This shock Madame de Rubine supported with that true dignity of soul, which gave a peculiar grace and energy to every sentiment and action. She felt severely her loss, but she felt it with the resignation of a Christian; she mingled patience with sorrow, and was enabled, through the most pure and elevated piety, to triumph over the repeated attacks of calamity. But the lovely Julie possessed not at this early period of life that exalted strength of mind, which she admired, without being able to imitate, in the character of her mother. That exquisite sensibility, which glowed upon her cheek, and spoke, in the fine language of her eyes, the tenderness of a father, she had cherished as a grace, without reflecting that, if indulged, it would degenerate into weakness, and cease to be a virtue.
Soon after the remains of St Gerard were deposited in the chapel of the chateau, Madame de Rubine, whose health was much injured by her unceasing attention to her husband, was advised by the physician who attended her, to try the effect of a softer climate.
About this time she received a consolatory letter from Madame Laronne, with a pressing invitation to visit her at her seat near Turin; which proposal would have been accepted with gratitude, had not the coldness, bordering upon contempt, which marked her behaviour towards her brother, lessened her in the estimation of his affectionate widow. For the sake of Julie, however, she was un willing to refuse this offered kindness; she considered that her illness might possibly prove fatal, and in that case it would be right to secure a friend for her child, though she ardently wished that friend had been any other than Madame Laronne.
Every thing was now properly arranged for the intended journey, and the time fixed for their departure, when Madame de Rubine as attacked by a malignant disorder, which threatened a speedy dissolution. It was her mind only that was masculine; for her frame being excessively slight, and delicately formed, was incapable of sustaining unusual fatigue.
Julie, who had not yet recovered from the shock occasioned by the death of her father, now felt her former loss was small, when compared with what she should experience in being parted from her beloved mother; and when she reflected upon the probability of this event, the dreadful presentiment worked so powerfully upon her feelings, as almost to deprive her of reason.
Madame de Rubine beheld the anguish of her daughter with extreme concern, which was augmented by the mournful idea of a separation, as the dangerous symptoms of her disease hourly increased; this she believed was inevitable, and being fully apprised of her situation, with that calm dignity which accompanied every action of her life, she desired that a friar from a neighbouring monastery, who was her confessor, might attend with the consecrated water, and read the service for the dying.
This customary ceremony being over, and the extreme unction administered, she appeared for some moments unusually agitated; but after a second interview with the monk, became more serene and tranquil. Being firmly persuaded that the awful hour was approaching that was to remove her from, and dissolve all her earthly connexions, she requested that Julie might be instantly called.
Pale and trembling, she entered the apartment, leaning upon the arm of a servant, and without attending to the common forms by addressing the holy visitor, who had just risen from a small altar erected near the window, threw herself by the side of the bed, and fixing her languid eyes upon the faded, yet interesting, countenance of her mother, burst into a flood of tears!
The venerable friar regarding her with an aspect on which pity and affection were strikingly depicted, endeavoured to console her with the comforts of religion, by reminding her of the gracious promises of protection which the doctrines of Christianity afforded, in a stile replete with simple and unaffected eloquence; but finding that her feelings were too acute to admit of premature consolation, with an air of tenderness mingled with sorrow, he withdrew.
Madame de Rubine, who beheld these emotions of severe distress with inexpressible concern, besought her to receive, and consider with gratitude, the salutary and valuable advice of the holy father. "Remember, my child," added she, with the look and accents of a departing saint, "that this separation, though to us mournful and afflictive, is the will of the Most High God, and that we ought to submit without a murmur to his unerring Providence! Let us then, instead of arrogating to ourselves the right of disputing his mercy and equity, prove, by the most implicit obedience to his divine decrees, that we are not unworthy to be called his servants; and give me reason to believe, my Julie, that the lessons of fortitude, which I have so frequently given you, have not been delivered in vain.
"I leave you, my darling alone and, almost unfriended, in a world in which you will find much occasion for the exercise of this estimable virtue, The only relation you will have left is Madame Laronne; and though for many reasons she is not the person I should have selected from all others as the guardian of my child, yet as she is the only surviving sister of your father, it cannot easily be dispensed with. Let me then endeavour, if possible by timely advice, to prevent the evils which might otherwise ensue from the precepts and example of one who may probably have some virtues, but who I fear, has many follies. I must now, my love, enter upon a subject that appears at this crisis more than usually important: I must demand from you, my Julie, before I leave you for ever, a solemn promise, upon the performance of which depends both your temporal and eternal welfare."
Here the meek sufferer paused, as if unable to proceed, whilst her daughter, with an assumed resignation, that shaded but imperfectly the emotions of her soul, assured her, that whatever was the nature of the request, she was prepared to comply with it, and would instantly ratify her resolve with the most solemn vow.
"You are not, my dear, sufficiently aware," resumed Madame de Rubine, "of the little respect that is paid to the religious, and even the moral, duties of life, amid the dissipation and gaiety of the world. Madame Laronne is a woman of rank, and undoubtedly from a motive of kindness, but, I fear, a mistaken one, will introduce you into the most brilliant and fashionable circles. She will also desire, in the common acceptation of the term, to see you advantageously married; but, though desirous of leading you to happiness, she may unfortunately mistake the way. In her choice of a husband for you, religion, I am convinced, will be only a secondary consideration, and a disagreement of sentiment in this important affair has been the occasion of innumerable evils. Promise me then, my Julie, that whatever arguments may be employed to dissuade you from your purpose, never to unite yourself to a man, however estimable in point of morals, and however splendid in situation, who does not exactly agree with you in all the articles of the Catholic Faith. Say then, my child, that whatever trials and temporal distresses this resolution may involve you in, that nothing shall prevail upon you to marry a Protestant."
Julie, who equally revered with her mother the doctrines of the Church of Rome, and whose zeal in the cause of her persuasion was not less animated, readily acquiesced in the proposal; and, having assured her dying parent in a manner the most solemn and impressive that she should consider this promise as sacred and inviolable, an exquisite expression of joy irradiated for a moment the features of Madame de Rubine, who, having uttered a few words as in prayer, sunk upon the pillow, and her spirits being greatly exhausted, fell into a slumber, from which she awoke unrefreshed and in a few hours breathed her last!
Immediately on the decease of Madame de Rubine, the friar, who had attended her as confessor, came with a consolatory message and invitation to Julie from the prioress of an adjacent convent; but this nothing could prevail upon her to accept till the funereal rites were over, and she had paid every possible respect to the memory of her lamented relative.
In a few days the body of the deceased was entombed by the side of St Gerard, in the chapel of the chateau, which was accompanied to the place of interment by a few of the domestics, and Julie, who attended as chief mourner.
Mindful of the lesson of resignation that her mother had so recently delivered, she attempted to appear tranquil; but the effort was ineffe
ctual, and the service, which was pronounced with peculiar solemnity, was frequently interrupted with her convulsive sobs.
The next day, at the request of Father Austin, the confessor, she was conducted to the convent of St Catherine, and introduced to the superior of the order, who received her with much apparent tenderness and concern, which Julie attempted to repay with the modest effusions of her gratitude.
The prioress, having been informed by the monk of the forlorn situation in which she was left, and also of the losses she had lately sustained, took the earliest opportunity of offering her an asylum until she could be more eligibly accommodated; and when she beheld her, endeavoured, with the most affecting gentleness of demeanour, to alleviate her affliction.
There was an air of solemnity in the manners of the superior, but it was tempered with mildness; and though the language of her countenance was expressive of sorrow, it was sorrow softened by resignation, reflection, and piety.
After a week's residence in the convent, Mademoiselle de Rubine, by the desire of her new friend, wrote to Madame Laronne, her aunt, to acquaint her with the death of her mother, and to inform her under whose care she was placed; requesting likewise to know, whether she was to remain under the maternal protection of the prioress, or to repair to Italy.
In a few weeks she received an answer from her aunt, in which she expressed her concern for the death of her sister, and also declared her intention of visiting the Netherlands for the purpose of conveying her into Italy, which address was concluded with many affectionate acknowledgments of unalterable regard.
The promises of support which this letter afforded, were thankfully and cordially received by the lovely Julie; yet the idea of being launched into a world, which she had been taught to believe was pregnant with vice and immorality, filled her with apprehension and uneasiness; and made her ardently wish that, instead of attending her aunt into Italy, she might be permitted to remain in the cloister, sheltered in the bosom of Religion and Virtue from the evils that threatened her in the world.
Soon after her admission into the convent, she attached herself to one of the sisters, whose name was Ursula. She was much older than herself, and from her many estimable qualities, had been recommended to her as a companion by the superior. In the society of this amiable nun, and that of her noble protectress, Julie became composed, and at times somewhat animated. Attentively observing the rules of the order, she arose early to matins, and as regularly attended at vespers, whilst the intermediate hours were chiefly engaged in assisting the prioress in embroidery, or other elegant employments, who expressed herself much gratified with her performance, and complimented her highly on the evident superiority of her taste.
After some time had elapsed in this calm, uninterrupted retirement, whose solitude was so entirely congenial to her present frame of spirits, a carriage and splendid retinue appeared at the gate, and announced the arrival of Madame Laronne.
Julie was walking in the shrubbery with sister Ursula and another lady, who was a novice, when she received an order to attend upon her aunt in the apartment of the superior.
Madame Laronne met her with many flattering appellations; but there was nothing of that genuine sensibility in her demeanour which communicates itself to the heart. When she condescended to listen to the plaint of misery, and to wipe away the tear from the cheek of the unfortunate, it was evidently more to display her own fancied superiority, than for the sake of experiencing that pure and heartfelt satisfaction, which in amiable minds accompanies the performance of a generous action.
After having continued a few weeks in the convent, which time was employed in settling the affairs of St Gerard, she desired her niece to prepare for the intended journey, whom she rallied on her partiality to that sequestered retreat, and her strict adherence to the rules of the institution. Julie, having obtained permission to visit once more the grave of her beloved parents, which she again watered with her tears, took an affectionate leave of the prioress, her favourite Ursula, and the rest of the sisterhood; and placing herself in the carriage with Madame Laronne, they were driven from the gate.
It was in vain that Julie attempted to conceal her emotions when she cast her eyes, for the last time, upon that hospitable mansion, which had so humanely afforded her shelter; she, however, exerted her most strenuous endeavours to appear cheerful; but these efforts were painful, and sometimes ineffectual; and Madame Laronne condemned that sensibility, which having never felt, she knew not how to compassionate.
CHAPTER VI
Far to the right where Apennine ascends.
Bright as the summer Italy extends.
Its upland sloping decks the mountains side.
Woods over woods in gay theatric pride.
While oft some temple's mould'ring top between.
With venerable grandeur marks the scene.
-GOLDSMITH
The rich and variegated landscape that every way presented itself, had a happy but transient effect upon the spirits of Julie, and for some time diverted her mind from the painful contemplation of her own misfortunes. Amidst the vast and magnificent scenery arose mountains crested with pines, in high cultivation and verdure, some of which seemed retiring, and to have formed themselves into the most picturesque lines, whose slopes were decorated with mosses, tinted with a variety of hues, which gave a sylvan richness to their surface.
The rapidity of their motion occasioned a hasty succession of beautiful imagery; sometimes a venerable abbey, half mouldering into ruins, reared its majestic head above the thick foliage of the wood, and sometimes in the meek hour of evening, or before the sun had risen upon the eminences, the shepherd-boy, as he led his flock from the valleys, would lean upon his staff, and listen to the chanted hymn, or early matins, as the sound floated upon the gale along the surface of the water.
As they arrived near the mansion of Madame Laronne, the magical influence of the picturesque scenery was at an end; and as Julie fixed her eyes upon the turrets of the chateau, which were gilded with the last rays of the retiring sun, a thousand melancholy presages arose in her mind, and awakened sensations of grief and terror.
The chateau was situated on an extensive lawn between two mountains, which opened to a clear and beautiful lake; the banks of the river, the lawn, and the hills, were clothed in the finest and richest verdure, whilst the whole of the scenery appeared capable of the highest improvement; but nothing like taste was displayed in the design. The mansion, which was lofty and extensive, had been formerly a fortified castle, but was now modernized with the addition of two large wings; but neither the building nor the grounds surrounding it discovered any traces of taste or judgment. The walks were gloomy and ill contrived, no elevations or windings displayed to advantage the grandeur of the mountains; nor did this appear to have been the intention of the artist, as they seemed to have been originally designed to lead as avenues to some fanciful but inelegant structures, which terminated their prospect.
When Madame Laronne and Julie had alighted, they were conducted into a spacious saloon, which was richly ornamented with the most costly furniture and valuable paintings. The ostentatious magnificence of every thing around formed a striking contrast with that unadorned and charming simplicity which characterized the former dwelling of Julie, so congenial to her feelings, and that of her mother.
Madame Laronne, anxiously displaying all the grandeur that surrounded her, expected from her niece that tribute of applause which she considered she had a right to demand; but was evidently mortified when Julie's countenance discovered nothing of either pleasure or surprise as she contemplated the splendour of her new abode.
After partaking of a slight collation with her aunt, Julie gained permission to retire to her chamber; and a servant having conducted her up a winding staircase, and through a long suite of rooms, informed her which was her apartment.
It was a large half-furnished room, situated in the ancient part of the edifice, hung with tapestry, and ornamented with the ancient portr
aits of the family; she was, however, too much fatigued, and too spiritless to examine them, and hastily undressing, retired to her bed.
In the morning she arose much earlier than the rest of the family, and amused herself for some time with observing the pictures. The greater part of them were allegorical, but in general ill-designed and executed, much damaged by neglect, and the colouring so materially injured by time, that the figures were scarcely perceptible.
When she had gazed for a considerable time upon these relics of ancient greatness, she opened the high Gothic casement of her window, which was adorned, on the upper part, with a variety of saints, crucifixes, and other holy devices, and cast her eyes over the fine extent of landscape with the most pleasurable emotions. The sun was just rising, but had not yet power sufficient to entirely dissipate the mists that had veiled the summits of the mountains; yet some parts of them were tinged with its faint radiance, which shed an effusion of the most soft and delicate tints.
Cheered and animated by the objects that were presented to her view, she wished to ramble through the grounds that she might examine more attentively the fine features of nature, and enjoy the first charms of the morning. Having unclosed the door, she listened for a few moments to hear if any of the family were stirring; but finding all was silent, and believing that none of the servants were at present arisen, she closed it, and taking a small volume of Metastasio from her pocket, sat down to read.
In about an hour she again opened the door, and hearing footsteps upon the stairs, ventured to proceed. It was Madame Laronne's woman, who, having conducted her to the outward gate, informed her which was the avenue that led to the principal part of the gardens. After walking slowly and thoughtfully through rows of pine and chestnut, the scene opened into a circular plain, which was decorated with a collection of statues and vases, neither of which possessed a sufficient degree of merit to invite observation.
The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror) Page 333
